


Life, love, 3am

by janescott



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Feelings, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing outstanding, really. Just smut and feelings and rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life, love, 3am

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magenta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magenta/gifts).



> For magenta - happy late birthday even though I'm still working on your ~real birthday fic. I thought I'd make one of the bunnies a real thing.
> 
> Beta'd by orc (thank you :D)
> 
> None of this is mine.

Harry mutters into his pillow, flinging out a hand. His eyes blink open when he registers his fingers are tangling in a cool sheet, not laying on Zayn’s warm skin.

He mutters again as he sits up, picking up his phone and blinking at the screen until the numbers 2.44 a.m. start making sense. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes and blinking away the afterglare of the phone screen. He fumbles with the lamp on the nightstand, flooding the room with much friendlier yellow light.

Sighing, Harry swings his legs out onto the floor and pushes up, heading towards the small balcony. It’s overshadowed by the floor above, so it’s sheltered from the rain.

He’s gambling on the fact that at this time of night, and in this rain, no one’s going to see him naked. And if so, well, take a picture, Harry thinks vaguely. It’ll last longer.

Zayn’s curled up in one of the balcony’s tiny chairs, staring at the orange glow of the end of his cigarette.

“Hey,” Harry says softly, dropping into the other chair.

“Hey,” Zayn returns, smiling as he grinds out the butt of his smoke in the ashtray on the rickety small table.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Harry shrugs, scrubbing a hand through his hair, cursing softly when his fingers catch on a knot.

“I think I just … woke up. Can’t sleep?”

Zayn sighs and shifts in his chair. He’s wearing a pair of Harry’s old sweatpants, and he’s got a blanket carelessly wrapped around his shoulders.

“Nah. Been awake for a while. Just, thinking you know?”

Harry nods, because this is what Zayn _does_ and the longer they’re on tour, the worse it will get, with Zayn getting more and more inside his own head.

Harry shivers slightly as a small flurry of rain flies over the balcony, carried on a gust of wind.

“C’mon,” he says, standing up and offering a hand to Zayn. “Let’s go back inside yeah? See if I can’t think of something to help you sleep …”

Zayn takes Harry’s hand and lets himself be hauled to his feet, until they’re face to face, close in the weak light spilling from the room.

“That’s corny, even for you, Styles,” Zayn says softly, letting his eyes drop briefly to Harry’s mouth.

“Yeah, but it’ll work,” Harry says, cheerful and confident, pitching his voice low and soft, which never fails to elicit a shiver from Zayn.

“Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

Harry grins then, and tugs on Zayn’s hand as another gust of rain blows in.

“Ugh, come on, it’s going to be freezing soon. Lets get cosy.”

Zayn snorts a laugh at that but lets Harry pull him back inside, and onto the bed.

“God, Harry, it’s nearly 3 in the morning, I’m sorry - you should go back to - “

Sometimes (most of the time, Harry finds), the best way to shut Zayn up and get him out of his head is to take the most direct course of action. In this case, Harry kisses him, hard and long; indulges himself with the feel of Zayn’s lips and tongue, the fading taste of the cigarette and the way Zayn shifts over him, tangling their legs together as they lie back on the bed.

Zayn pulls back to look at Harry for a moment, and Harry knows he’s won when he sees the fond, helpless smile tugging at the corners of Zayn’s mouth.

“Better’n smoking outside on a shit night, yeah?” Harry licks his lips deliberately, prepared to play dirty to circumvent whatever funk spiral Zayn’s teetering on the edge of.

“You play dirty, Styles,” Zayn says softly, echoing Harry’s thoughts before dipping his head to nip at Harry’s bottom lip, tugging it hard between his teeth until Harry lets out a helpless moan. He rolls his hips up, spreading his legs shamelessly and trapping Zayn between them.

Zayn laughs, soft and low, his face lighting up, the lamplight making his eyes look like deep pools. Harry feels his breath catch in his throat and he lifts one hand to Zayn’s face, stroking his thumb over one sharp cheekbone.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” It’s nothing he hasn’t said a million times, and he _means_ fuck.

“You’ll say anything to get me to suck your dick,” Zayn says, but his soft tone belies the crudity of what he’s saying.

Harry grins anyway, feels his whole face light up in response and rolls his hips up again, slow and deliberate this time. He could get off like this, he thinks, just slow rolls and lazy, slow kisses in the middle of a rainy night in fuck-off-we’re-on-tour-I-have-no-idea-where-we-are-land, and Zayn warm above him; his hands easy on Harry’s skin, his lips and teeth leaving behind tiny roadmaps for Harry to find in the morning.

But, well, Zayn _offered_ so Harry just rolls his hips again, licks his lips and says, “You know me _so_ well.”

Zayn just smiles as he pushes back to slip Harry’s sweats off, already hanging too low on his hips because Harry’s a bit broader than Zayn everywhere. Harry tucks one hand behind his head and lifts the other to trace over the tendons in Zayn’s neck, watching fascinated as Zayn goes completely still under his hand, his head tilted back.

Harry lets his hand drop, slowly, as he traces over the ink he can see and the shadowed patches of skin that he wants to leave his own marks on. Zayn sighs as Harry drops his hand to the bed and blinks his eyes open slowly as he tilts his head back down.

“Hey,” Harry says softly as Zayn reaches out, tracing down the line of Harry’s hip, bending over to trace over the same line with his tongue. Harry groans softly when Zayn digs his teeth in, working over the same patch of skin until they both know there’ll be a dark bruise there in the morning.

Harry groans and pushes a hand into Zayn’s thick hair, soft and wild in the middle of the night. “Fuck, Zayn, please, I can’t - “

Zayn presses a kiss to Harry’s hip, then shifts and presses an even more gentle one right under the head of Harry’s cock, where it’s warm and damp with pre-come and so sensitive that Harry nearly throws Zayn off when his hips buck up.

“Shit, sorry, sorry.” Zayn just laughs and kisses the same spot before licking up the whole length with his tongue, laving Harry’s cock until Harry thinks he’s actually going to go out of his mind.

He tangles his hand in Zayn’s hair again, but doesn’t press anything; doesn’t push at Zayn at all as Zayn takes him in, bit by agonising bit, until Harry has to close his eyes against the feel of his mouth which is warm and hot and shorts out any thoughts Harry has in his head, everything scattering and then focusing down to the point of Zayn’s mouth and tongue and -

“Z-Zayn. Gonna, I’m gonna -” Harry groans as he comes, opening his eyes in time to see Zayn pull back all the way to the tip so Harry’s come slides over his chin and drips on to his neck and “Jesus. _Zayn_.”

Zayn smiles and it almost looks shy as he lowers his eyes, his spiky lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

Harry looks down and nearly groans again, because he expected Zayn to still be hard but he’s not, and he’s a fucking _mess_. 

“Zayn _Zayn_. C’mere, _fuck_ -” and he’s reaching out, pulling Zayn down to him so he can kiss him and chase his own taste from Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn goes, easy now; and he looks tired, but pleased with himself. Harry licks at his own come that’s starting to stick to Zayn’s throat and Zayn buries his head in Harry’s neck, hiding a low moan.

“Shower?” Harry asks softly feeling rather than seeing the nod Zayn gives him.

Harry goes to his knees under the warm running water, feeling Zayn’s fingers digging into his shoulder as he teases Zayn’s cock back to full hardness with his mouth, pressing kisses wherever he can when he has to take a breath.

They clean off, then; under the warm, drowsy shower and bundle back into the bed, Harry curling around Zayn and pressing a kiss to one sharp shoulder blade.

“Think you can sleep now?”

“Mmhmmm …” is all Harry gets in response and he smiles into the back of Zayn’s neck, tucking his chest against Zayn’s back; pulling him in as tight as possible.

It’s a day off tomorrow.

It’s pissing down with rain outside, and Harry knows he’s going to be tired, but Zayn is all right; Zayn’s not going down into one of his funks, and it’s Harry that’s pulled him out of it; and as far as Harry’s concerned, it will _always_ be him.


End file.
